


I Wanna Be Your Toy

by alexanger



Series: We're Okay [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Master/Pet, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, absolute sin, don't even look at me, trans ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is hunger in both Alexander and Eliza, but they show it to John very differently.</p><p>Alex aches to suffer.</p><p>Eliza aches to please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Be Your Toy

There is hunger in both Alexander and Eliza, but they show it to John very differently.

Alex aches to suffer. John sees it in the lines of his body when harsh words spill from his mouth. Reprimands land like kisses on Alexander's upturned face, and as the words become hard-edged and nasty, he will part his lips and his tongue will dart out to lash across them. John loves the way Alex becomes meek and submissive, the way he mewls with longing and twists his hands in John's clothes, the way he begs for absolution. John sees the softness that cruelty brings out in Alexander. He is careful to push just enough to draw out the honey in Alexander's bones, and no further.

Eliza, on the other hand, aches to please. She is warm and yielding, and John showers her in praise so he can watch her face light up, dawn-like and ethereal. She gorges on kindness and encouragement, and John will almost sing it to her, a litany of “good girl, good girl, good girl,” that makes her body fluid with pleasure. He loves to breathe compliments into her ear and then draw his hands down her spine, adding just the slightest drag of nail so her skin raises into goosebumps and her whole body shudders with the joy of it.

He loves to come home and see his pets crowding around him – their dog and his two kittens, Alexander and Eliza, all three of them vying for a place under his hands. It's rare that he comes home to Alex fully in sub space. From what he gathers, his kittens spend much of the day quite normally; they hardly wear their collars around the house, and neither of them wear them out and about. Alex, John knows, is very bad at following orders when John is not present to enforce them, but Eliza is perfection itself, holding herself to such a high standard of obedience that John never really finds reason to reprimand her. John will come home to a grubby, sweaty, ink-stained Alexander – the very image of a hard-lined tuxedo cat, all raven fur and hard edges – and a collected, well-groomed, submissive Eliza – a pale Javanese, perhaps, long-legged and proud.

So today, as always, the first task is to wrestle Alexander into the bath. Alex spits and fights and scratches the whole way, but every time John pauses to check if he's going too far this time, Alex murmurs “green green green green green” into his ear, and John grabs him by the back of his neck and snarl threats as a reward. Eliza watches these proceedings with large eyes and the barest hint of a smile floating about her lips.

One of John's favourite punishments is to turn on the water and shove Alexander under the spray of the shower without letting it heat up. The shock of cold always stuns the scrappier of his kittens, but not for long; soon enough the water warms and Alex becomes liquid, melting in the torrent. It helps that John inevitably removes his shirt in order to wash Alexander – he maintains that he does so only to avoid getting his nice button-downs soaked and soapy when Alex decides he wants to be a brat again and spits water on him, or rubs his shampoo-slicked hair all over his chest. His chest, bare save for sprays of freckles, is a source of distraction for Alexander and Eliza both. The baring of skin means their reward is assured.

“You know, you put the ink on the page, not on your arms,” John tells Alex, pretending to be sick of scrubbing pen marks off his forearms and his stocky fingers.

“Or on the bedspread,” Eliza chimes in innocently, as always. Sometimes she mixes it up – “or on the carpet,” “or on the curtains,” “or on your clothes.” She is well supplied with secrets about Alexander's misdeeds and she sells him out shamelessly. When Alex fights, when he struggles, it means that John gives him far too much attention for Eliza's liking, so she squirms her way into the space between them and curls up, content in her ray of light.

Alex may fight John, but he would never fight Eliza. When she sells him out like this, he gazes at her helplessly, adoration clear in his dark eyes. She returns his glance haughtily, but there is love in her stare.

It is very clear to both of them exactly where they stand.

Eliza is a princess.

Alexander is a pig.

Bath time is always followed by a towel being rubbed roughly on Alexander's scalp, along his shoulders, his back, his hips. Even now, over a year after surgery, John very carefully pats dry the scars underneath each pectoral. There is so little gentleness in the way he touches Alex, but he can't bring himself to be rough with these parts of him, the parts that not long ago were still untouchable.

John likes to kiss these scars, and the starburst scars around his nipples.

Dry and groggy with warmth, a very grumbly and naked Alex steps out of the tub, still wrapped in his towel, and follows John and Eliza to the massive bed the three of them share. There, John sheds his trousers, leaving Eliza the only one clothed, and collapses on the bed, taking in the newest ink stains on the spread.

“Look what you've done,” he tells Alex. The kitten avoids his gaze. “Alex, I gave you an order. Here.”

Alexander drops the towel on the floor and slinks over, resentment thrilling through his nerves.

John grabs him by the hair on the back of his head and shoves his nose against the ink stains. “Do you see this?”

A murmur of assent. It's not good enough.

John grinds his face into the bedspread. “Do you see this?” he repeats.

“Yes, sir.” Muffled and unclear, but exactly what John requires.

“Is this what good kittens do?”

“No, sir.”

“And what do you think I should do about it?”

It's a trick question, but sometimes Alexander rises to the bait. Sometimes he asks for a flogging; sometimes he just meows obstinately, the revolution in his blood rising and sweeping him up in disobedience.

Today, he remains silent. That earns him a reward.

“Eliza, my lamb,” John purrs, holding Alexander's face hard against the bed still. “Go into the wardrobe for me and get me the purple strap.”

“Yes sir,” she breathes, already moving to fetch it. She is light on her feet and she moves with the dignity and grace of a dancer. There's an inherent purity in her motions, and the juxtaposition of that purity with the leather strap in her hand makes John's cock take interest and begin to stir. Eliza, the dear thing, has also remembered both collars. Hers is a pale blue with a silver tag; Alexander's is midnight blue with a black tag. John fits Eliza's collar around her throat and peppers kisses just under her chin. She presses against him, delighting in his attention.

Then John turns to Alex, who has not moved from his spot. His rear is elevated, pointing towards Eliza, and John can see, from his position on the bed, that the kitten is already almost dripping wet.

John winds up hard and whips the collar against the backs of Alexander's thighs. Alex whines in his throat but doesn't jerk away. Instead, he spreads his legs a little further. John can't resist drawing a fingertip between Alexander's folds, and then offering his fingers, slick, to Eliza. She opens her mouth willingly and licks John's fingers clean.

“You really should see this, Alex,” John says softly, but as Alexander moves to turn around John shoves him, hard, back into place. “I didn't say you could move. Don't you wish you could, though? Eliza is doing so well tasting you. Aren't you, my love?”

Eliza, bless her sweet heart, mews obligingly.

“This is what happens when you're a fucking brat,” John tells Alexander calmly. Alex stiffens as if the words are blows landing on his shoulders. “Eliza gets kisses, Eliza gets to taste you, Eliza gets to come, and you get to lay there and listen. Aren't you grateful I do anything for you at all?”

The answer isn't coming fast enough, so John takes up the strap and lands a blow against the small of Alexander's back. It's not a hard hit, but it's sudden enough that it drags a groan from the kitten's mouth. Alex presses his thighs together, desperately seeking some kind of stimulation, but John nudges them back apart with the handle of the strap, a gentle warning.

“I didn't say you could move, did I? Stay. Show your pretty cunt off for me.”

John buckles Alexander's collar onto him, and then turns his attention to Eliza. She stands before him, endlessly patient, in a knee-length skirt, thigh high socks, and a low cut tee, and John only bothers to remove her underwear before he pulls her onto his lap. She's soaked, too; seeing Alexander being punished brings something out in her, some glee, that gets her wetter than anything else seems to. She rubs herself against John's leg, and he allows her. He is indulgent with her. He spoils her.

His fingers trace the top of one sock, slide up her hip, ghost across her abdomen, bury themselves in the nest of hair he can't see under the skirt but he can definitely feel. John feels the heat of her, the desperation, and she meows encouragingly until he slides his fingers between her folds and covers her clit with one fingertip. She is so small there, compared to Alexander. Alex's clit has grown with testosterone, but Eliza's is tiny and perfect, and John loves the way it slips under his fingers. The first stroke of his finger on her clit has her moaning low and throaty, and hearing that, Alex keens.

“You want to taste her, don't you?” John asks. He lays a lazy smack with the strap over Alexander's back. “I'd like to ask if you're learning your lesson, but you never do, do you? You like being bad. You love being a brat. You love being punished. You love hearing your wife rubbing herself against me, don't you? You know what, Alex? I'm going to fuck her. I'm going to fuck your wife, and she's going to come as many times as I want her to, and you aren't allowed to even touch yourself.”

By now Alex is jerking his hips, and John allows him; there's nothing to rub against. Instead he focuses on slipping his fingers into Eliza and fucking her open. Her palms slide down his chest. She never asks him for anything outright, but he knows where her hands are traveling, and he gives the order.

“Touch me, Eliza.”

Her fingers wrap around his cock. Her thumb slides against his slit, where pre has beaded, and she raises it to her mouth to taste him, the bitter edge dragging an obscene noise from somewhere deep inside her.

“Want it inside you?” he breathes.

She nods.

“Can you wait for it?”

She hesitates; she wants to tell him no, that she wants it now, but she knows the virtues of patience, and she submits, averting her eyes and humming in acquiescence.

“How many, Alexander? How much do you want to hurt for me, sweetheart?” John breathes. He traces the lines of Alexander's spine with the tip of the strap. His kitten shudders beneath him.

There's a pause, heavy and heady, before Alex whimpers, “as many as you like, sir.”

“You've decided to be good, hm?” John runs the strap down to Alexander's ass, winds up, and lays a sharp smack across the left cheek. “Nine more here. Count them down for me.”

Alexander obligingly counts each one, though by the end he's breathing raggedly. John repeats the process on the other cheek, and then on each thigh, and by the end Alex is shuddering and gasping, his chest heaving, his thighs quivering with the strain of staying still. John is not tender when he whips Alex; poor Alexander has deep red patches on his ass and his thighs, and when John lays a palm flat against his leg, he yelps and shivers violently.

“You are so, so fucking wet,” John tells him, and for emphases he slides a finger into Alex. There's almost no resistance. It plunges deep inside and John's knuckles brush against Alexander's clit, and he keens, a high, insistent noise, and in his voice there's the barest edge of a sob. Far enough.

“Roll over,” John tells him, and as Alex collapses on his back, he adds warmly, “Good boy.” The praise makes Alexander's face light up. His eyes are closed and there are tears on his lashes and a single track streaking down one cheek.

In reward, John helps Eliza to clamber onto Alex and kneel just over his face. “You suck Eliza's clit for me. Get your tongue in her, fuck her with your mouth, make her come hard, and maybe I'll think about letting you touch yourself,” he tells Alex. There's no hesitation. Alexander strains his neck upwards and his hands clamp on Eliza's thighs as he licks deep inside her, tasting her, fucking her, and then trails his tongue up to her clit. He is greedy, and John tells him so; he pants and moans into Eliza as he savors the taste of her. His tongue flicks across her clit, pattering like rain. She tangles her fingers in his hair and ruts against his face. She's so wet that his face, his throat, even parts of his chest are slick with her.

It doesn't take long to push her over the edge, and she comes hard, hands clenched in his hair, pulling entirely too hard in an effort to press his skillful tongue harder against her. Slowly, reverently, he sucks her through her orgasm, and then sets to work licking her clean. It's a useless task; his face is just as wet as her folds, but he pushes gamely on, and before long she's moving against him again, her nipples hard peaks showing through her shirt.

As much as John would love to watch his kittens play like this for hours, he is aching hard and in need of some attention. “Eliza, my love, come here,” he says softly, and she climbs off Alex immediately, without any hint of reluctance. John sits back against the wall and pulls Eliza onto his lap with her back against his chest. His cock slides against her. He groans, and Eliza, taking the hint, grasps him and guides him into her. John presses kisses to the back of her neck and along her shoulders as he fucks deep into her. She always seems perfectly tight, clenching just enough around him that he has to push his orgasm away with every movement.

Alex watches them hungrily. There is a wild desperation in his eyes; he keeps licking his lips, and he can't resist brushing his fingertips along one nipple.

“Did I say you could?” John asks sharply.

“No, sir,” Alexander breathes.

“Good boy. Come here and make your wife come,” John tells him. Alex wastes no time in settling between John's knees and wrapping his lips around Eliza's clit. John's thrusts jostle Alexander around, but he doesn't seem to mind; he moans, the eternal showoff, and alternates between sucking at Eliza's clit and plunging down to worship John's balls. The added sensation, combined with the suddenness of it – it disappears, and then reappears, and fuck, Alexander can do more than just talk with that hot mouth – is too much for John, and without warning he slams his hips upwards against Eliza and comes inside her, biting her shoulder hard enough to bruise.

Eliza squirms in his lap, grinding against his cock, and Alex takes the hint and focuses on speed. He pushes his tongue against her where John's cock is buried inside her; the stretch is too much for her, so she grabs him by the hair and yanks him up to her clit. His tongue lashes against her rapidly. She takes three deep, heaving gasps, and then cries out, and as she clenches, John slips out of her, and Alexander's face is a disgusting mess, slick and sticky and covered in the come that dripped out of Eliza.

Eliza and John wind down, breathing harshly, and Alex shows remarkable patience when he allows them two full minutes in which to recover before he's whining again.

“What do you want, you horrible animal,” John grunts sleepily.

“Want to come,” Alex breathes, and suddenly the dam is broken. “Please, please, I want to come so bad, I made Eliza come twice and you came once, and I just want to come, I'm so _hard_ , John, and so wet. I'm so fucking wet for you.”

“Yes you are,” John agrees.

“Please, please fuck me, please touch me, please feel how wet I am. I want to come, please,” Alex is out of control now, breathless, desperate, and with his mouth he finds John's hand and starts sucking at his fingers, taking John's index finger right to the back of his throat and swallowing around it.

“Fuuuck. Desperate little toy, aren't you? Eliza, you lay down, sweetheart. Wait for me to come snuggle,” John orders absently. Eliza obediently flops to the far side of the bed and nestles down into the blankets.

Idly, John pushes and tugs Alex into position on his stomach, his ass up, legs spread, hands over his head. From this position, he's open and vulnerable, and that's exactly how he comes hardest – on display, a glutton for attention, imagining dozens of pairs of devouring eyes.

John rubs his fingertips against Alexander's dripping slit and teases him open, feeling the way the hole flutters and weakly contracts at the contact. He's so close, just from tasting Eliza. Without any prep, John slides all the fingers of his left hand into Alexander. When Alex doesn't moan loud enough, he adds his thumb, and pushes deeper. It's suddenly a stretch; John has big hands, and he's not sure if Alex can take him past the knuckles.

“You seem pretty full, love, I don't know if I can get in any farther,” John tells him. Alexander, never one to back down from a challenge, bites his lip and thrusts himself back on John's hand.

It slides in down to the wrist.

Alexander drops his mouth open and shouts, and John peppers his hips and back with kisses, praising him loudly through the pain. “Feel that stretch, Alex,” he encourages. “Good boy, opening up so big for me, you want me to ruin you? Want me to wreck that pretty cunt? Touch your clit for me, I want to feel you come.”

Alex obeys, but he mumbles, “want Eliza to watch.”

John grants him this. “Eliza, watch him come.”

Eliza turns towards them and looks at Alexander, and their eyes meet. He is wrecked, strung out, covered in her wetness and John's come, the dark bags under his eyes pronounced, his hair falling damp into his face. Eliza is warm and flushed with sleep, but she finds herself waking up, like his desperation is infectious, and she reaches out to grasp his free hand.

Alex rubs himself desperately, roughly, there's no finesse or grace about it. He just hammers on his clit, his fingers fumbling for purchase against the slippery nub, and he groans as he finds that spot just where hood and clit meet. His breath hitches in his chest. Suddenly there are tears spilling from his eyes, and John, feeling the twitches begin, flares his fingers.

Alexander's jaw falls open. For a second, there's no sound.

Then John's hand is squeezed, hard, and Alex lets loose with a deep, animal groan, something that starts deep in his chest. His legs won't support his weight anymore. He sinks down onto his belly, still staring into Eliza's eyes, and John waits until the clenching is over to withdraw his hand. Absently he leans down, snags the towel off the floor, and wipes his hand down before pulling both of his kittens towards him and collapsing, exhausted, in the centre of the bed.

Both Alex and Eliza pepper his face in kisses. John allows himself to smile at them, indulging their silliness. “You were both so good for me,” he tells them. “You should be very proud.”

Both of them murmur “thank you, sir,” and John kisses each of them squarely on the forehead.

“Cat nap?” he suggest, and Eliza groans.

“Bye,” she says, half-rising. Alex and John both scramble to pull her back down into the pile.

“You're not going anywhere,” Alexander orders, in a rare moment of command.

Bless his heart. John lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSwc0HxnasI).


End file.
